Wednesday, 13 December 2017

I had it all, or so I thought. Until my husband betrayed me and my entire world came crashing down. I turned to alcohol and sex to numb my pain—a different city each night, a new man in my bed. But I’m sober now, and I’m working my way back up the country music charts.

But then the death threats started and I needed protection. When my new bodyguard walked in the room, I couldn’t believe my eyes: the one man from my long spiral down who I never forgot. The one who played my body like an instrument.

Now we’re on the run from a madman and all I want is to forget about everything. To pretend this isn’t my life. To lose myself in him. So I let him take control.

I tried telling myself it was only sex, but I've done the unthinkable: I've fallen in love with a man who can never love me back. Because Ash has demons of his own—ones he never talks about and never will. I know I should walk away before it’s too late. But I'm an addict, and I need him.

How do you give up something you love, even when you know it’s bad for you? How do you walk away from a man like Ash Devereaux?

USA Today bestselling author Rebecca Norinne writes contemporary romance featuring smart and sexy heroines and the men who adore them. When not writing, Rebecca is watching rugby, drinking craft beer, or traveling the globe in search of inspiration for her next story. Her favorite foods are popcorn, sushi, and French fries and she’s never met a Kelly Clarkson song she didn’t like.

I saw lots of things I probably shouldn’t have. Sometimes I’d touch myself, imagining it were his hands roaming over my body instead of my own. I had just one mission—to find out if the rumors were true.

Then one day, he caught me watching him.

I was mortified. I was prepared to quit college, move to another country, and live the rest of my life saying, “Nick who?” But, apparently, life had other ideas.

Because Nick? Well, he isn’t just my neighbor … He’s also my father’s best friend. If I thought things were difficult before, they were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

I throw the rest of my coffee down the sink, suddenly unable to stomach it. I wait for dad to leave for work before I bolt next door search of Nick. I find him just as he’s closing his front door. I glance at the car, where the kids are already strapped in.

The color drains from his face. “Fuck. He told you, didn’t he? I’m so sorry, Anna. I couldn't help it. He invited himself along. What was I supposed to say to the guy?” he says weakly.

“Jesus, Nick. How about no?” I retort, still in disbelief.

“I'm sorry,” he protests again. “I really had no choice. Short of saying hey, I'm fucking your daughter, there was nothing that would’ve gotten me out of this.”

“Fine,” I growl, knowing I can’t be angry at him for this. “So, what’s the plan?” I say, rubbing my temples.

“I hired a houseboat. For a week,” he muttered.

“A freaking houseboat?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Jesus keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing at his car.

“You're telling me that for the next week, I'm stuck on a houseboat with my boyfriend, my father—who also happens to be my boyfriend’s best friend, and my boyfriend’s two kids?” Nick winces. “And you want me to keep my voice down?”

“Uh, is now a bad time to mention you dad just called me? He wanted to check that it was okay to bring Mandy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “He must’ve called you the second he left the house.”

This just keeps getting better and better. I liked Mandy, but it annoyed me that he made this big deal about us spending time together only to turn around and invite his girlfriend.

What the hell am I going to do?

Kayla is in such bad hysterics that she's practically falling off the kitchen counter when I tell her about the mess that is my life.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she huffs, barely able to spit the words out. “You've got to get me a ticket on that boat.”

“It’s not a fucking show, Kayla,” I growl. “There are no tickets.”

“Bullshit. This is going to be the show of the year,” Kayla giggles.

“Come on, please be serious, Kales,” I frown.

“I am being serious. You need me there,” Kayla says. The laughter is gone and there is nothing but honesty in her voice. The thing I love about Kayla is as crude and blunt as she can be, when you need her, she’s there. “I can help out with the kids and buy you more time alone with Nick. You think you’re gonna get any time with him without me there to cause a distraction?”

I think about it. Maybe having her there wasn't the worst idea in the world. If something went wrong and I needed an out, I know Kayla would figure something out for me.

USA Today bestselling author Nana Malone's love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense novel she "borrowed" from her cousin.

It was a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana, and Nana was a precocious thirteen. She's been in love with kick-butt heroines ever since. With her overactive imagination constantly channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters.

While she waits for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, Nana works out her drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as brazen and kick-butt as she thinks she is.

loves her family, their tiny hometown in the folds of the Colorado mountains holds too many memories. Memories of a life barely lived and a love barely realized. No matter how she thrives, AJ Jenkins is the man she compares all others too. He just so happens to be the one that broke her heart. Seeing him, seeing the life she might have had with him, has been a very convincing reason to celebrate the holidays in the Pacific Northwest, happy in the rain instead of the snow.

AJ Jenkins isn't exactly bitter and frigid. It's the below freezing

temperatures, the knee deep snow, and the death of his chronically ill father dragging him down. That is until Cam Collins finally comes home for Christmas. After thirteen years, he'd almost given up on seeing her. And was incredibly happy about it. But thirteen is unlucky for a reason, and apparently that reason is still a klutzy, gorgeous, living memory determined to poke holes in his barely hanging on heart with death defying stilettos.

Barely behind me, Cam is bent over the pool table, angling at a difficult shot. Those painted on jeans accentuate curves I don’t remember her having. Curves I want to paw. Then there’s the mysterious tattoo. It cuts across cream colored skin and I want to lick it—lick her—despite everything between us.

To make matters worse, she makes the near-impossible shot. The Cam Collins I know is three things: uncoordinated, callous and the world’s worst pool player. I’d had to help her with every shot she ever took, my body wrapped completely around hers, my hands guiding her every movement. Almost every time she’d look over at me rather than the ball.

But she’s well on her way to running the table.

How long has she had these skills? Did she develop them because I wasn’t there? My heart twists at the thought.

Or, worse, could she always do this, her mind so accustomed to angles and trajectories, but wanted my hands on her?

Fuck.

I don’t know why I’ve thought of the possibility, but it’s the most dangerous one yet because it sucks me back to that warm summer night when we’d played the best game of pool of my life. I’d helped her with each shot. She’d wiggled her ass up against my crotch too many times to count. Just when I thought I was going to have to take her home then jerk off, she’d grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the 13th green behind Molly Merithew’s house.

Crickets chirped, punctuating her labored breathing. There was the slightest warm breeze tickling my skin. I never asked if it was the breeze or me that peaked her nipples when she shimmied out of her white eyelet linen top. I couldn’t really ask anything as Cam stripped naked behind the willow trees and let me have her for the first time, bathed in moonlight. When we snuggled under the stars she wore nothing but my flannel.

I never got that shirt back. I’d sworn off anything remotely related to vanilla, too—that’s what Cam tasted like.

Shit.

That’s what the hidden taste in the bourbon was.

Fuck pool. Fuck this delicious bourbon. And fuck Cam Collins.

Author Bio

Ace Gray is a self-proclaimed troublemaker and connoisseur

of both the good life and fairy tales. After a life-long love affair with

books, she undertook writing the novel she wanted to read, which culminated in her first release STRICTLY BUSINESS and followed with, well, quite a few more. When she’s not writing, she works in craft beer. Originally a small town, Colorado girl, she now loves rainy days, shellac manicures, coffee shops and bourbon—all of which are bountiful in her adopted home of Portland, or where she runs amok with her chef husband and husky pup.

My friends are being slaughtered one by one. Decapitated. Burned alive. Chopped to pieces.

The hooded killer has vowed to keep murdering people I care about until they’re all dead, their profile pics on social media replaced with photos of their mutilated bodies. The police can’t catch him. They have no leads.

The horror is making the visions come back—the fire that took my parents, leaving my twin Alex and me alive, but broken.

The hooded killer won’t stop until I’m completely shattered. He’ll eat away at my mind, heart, and soul until there’s nothing left. No one left to love, no one left to trust, and nothing I can be sure is real.

Dr. Cross thinks a trip back to the place my parents died will stop the visions. Alex is afraid it’s a trap.

But I know the hooded killer won’t hurt me. That’s not his game.

His game is much deeper. Much darker.

Rob Watson was born in Santa Monica, California. He is married and is the father of three children. He is the president/CEO of Damaged Psyche Productions. He is a horror/sci-fi fanatic and has been ever since early childhood. He has been imagining and writing stories for as far back as he can remember. Some of his idols are Rod Serling, Steven King, David Cronenberg, Edgar Allan Poe, Alfred Hitchcock, Wes Craven, and Dan Curtis. Rob studied film and creative writing at Long Beach City College and California State University, Long Beach, after which he spent a couple of years working on movie production crews (as set PA, second assistant director, boom, etc.). Since then, he has written almost a dozen feature length screenplays (mostly horror and/or sci-fi) as well as numerous short stories and scripts. He has two original screenplays currently in pre-production and has written several “work-for- hire” scripts.

Bourbon Capital of the World, Bardstown, Kentucky, Savannah Stewart writes Contemporary Romance, New Adult, and Romantic Suspense novels. She is very much a Leo, with one fur baby named, Jack. She's a Book-a-holic who loves music, tattoos, photography, singing, writing, & laughing. One of her favorite quotes is "Love is the beauty of the soul."

Southpaw, Tucker Michaels, was a player on and off the field, and he was looking for his next big score.

Tucker Michaels could bring the heat, striking out anyone who stepped up to the plate, and he was burning up the big leagues.

At least, that’s what I was told.

I had no idea who Tucker Michaels was, and I honestly didn’t care. From the moment I met him, I thought he was an arrogant, foul-mouthed jerk.

I’ll admit he was hot—if you’re into the gorgeous, athletic type, but there was no mistaking the way he looked at me, like I was about to be his next grand slam.

Unfortunately for him, he was about to be the one to strike out. I had no interest in playing games, especially when he was helping my little brother’s baseball team.

But after a week from hell and one too many drinks, I was starting to see another side of the sexy, charismatic player.

Leslie Wilder grew up in a small town in West Tennessee. A country girl at heart, she’s always thought that life is too short, but she had no idea how short it really was until her brother passed away in 2014. She’s always been an avid reader, loving the escape only a great book can give, and wondered if she had what it took to write one of the wild romances she’d come to adore. With the support of her family and friends, she published Inferno: A Devil Chaser’s MC, one year after her brother’s death. With him in mind, she fulfilled her lifetime dream of writing. Since then, she’s completed the Devil Chaser’s Series and continued on with the Satan’s Fury MC Series. She has so many stories in her head, and can’t wait to share each and every one.

Leslie has been blown away by the support of her readers, appreciating every message, review, and encouraging word she’s received over the past year. She looks forward to continuing this journey with them for years to come.